Discipline
by venusmercurysunev
Summary: Oneshot. "You know, Lizzie," His voice sent a scared shiver down her spine, "There are only a few things I well and truly hate in other people. Lying, betrayal, and rudeness. And you, Agent Keen, were very rude just now. I might just have to do something about that." 1x5.


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BLACKLIST!**

**Discipline**

_**My first ever oneshot! This fic is for the amazing people on Facebook who have been a real inspiration to me! You know who you are! This is for you.**_

How the hell did she get herself into this? Her day had been going fine. Well, as fine as it could be chasing another one of Raymond Reddington's damned 'Blacklisters'. She'd met with Reddington that morning to discuss their latest target, the Courier. The FBI had tracked him down to a farmers' market, she and Meera had pursued him in a relatively quick but intense car chase which had required Meera to crash right into the Courier's car. They'd chased him down on foot and found him a few streets away, his arm badly broken with a compound fracture. Liz may not have had much medical training but she knew that wound must have hurt like hell. As it turned out, the FBI's doctor had examined him and came to a terrifying conclusion; the Courier couldn't feel physical pain. That knowledge made the Blacklister even creepier to Liz – pain, and the fear of pain, held most criminals back. But with the Courier…She had watched Ressler attempt to manhandle him in the interrogation, and he had just smiled at the frustrated agent. The Courier had nothing to lose. Nothing to fear. And that was why she had visited Reddington at his latest hideout for the second time that day.

Pulling up outside the house and heading inside, she followed Dembe's instructions and headed into the upstairs living room and study. Just like that morning, the room was cluttered with hundreds upon hundreds of books, loose sheets of old paper and dozens of bottles of the mysterious cloudy liquid that Reddington seemed to like, although he coughed after every sip. He sat in a vintage high-seated armchair, his feet resting on an ottoman. Even though he was 'off-duty', he was still immaculately dressed in trousers, shirt, tie and waistcoat, a glass of the cloudy alcohol on the desk next to him. He was smiling to himself at whatever he was reading.

For the first time, Liz caught a look at the real Raymond Reddington. Not the Raymond Reddington who was the FBI's number four on the Most Wanted list. But the real him. Relaxed. Smiling. Perhaps even light-hearted, if only for a few minutes while he read? She didn't want to interrupt his down-time, but she had to. The Blacklister's victim didn't have long. She knocked on the door frame as she stepped into the room. He looked up from the old paper he was reading from. If it were possible, his smile seemed to grow upon seeing her.

"Lizzie! Come in, come in!"

"Have you got a minute? It's about the Courier."

"Naturally." His annoyed tone of voice betrayed his smile. What was his problem? They worked together, she had questions, he had answers; why wouldn't she come to him? "Before that tedious business though, listen to this. Frederick," The deceased previous owner of the house they were in, "Wrote to the Editor of the _Washington Post_ almost every day, regarding any and every subject." Luli walked into the room carrying a cup of coffee. Liz glanced at her and then did a double-take. She was wearing one of Reddington's shirt, her black underwear set visible through the light coloured material. The sleeves of the expensive shirt were rolled up, the collar open several buttons. Reddington didn't seem to notice, giving her a polite smile and thanks as she put down the cup next to him and then left the room without a word. "Here's a good one!_ 'Dear Mr Bradley, what is up with all the rabbits_-?"

Liz snapped. There was a young man being held hostage by the Courier, in a sealed environment with a limited supply of oxygen…And Reddington was talking about rabbits! Lunging forward and snatching the papers out of his surprised hands, she threw them on the floor and glared at him. He stared back at her, his face devoid of emotion, but his eyes burned with annoyance, surprise, and even…Amusement?

"I need to know what you're not telling me about the Courier." She demanded.

"And what will I get in return?" He challenged, standing up. At his full height and Liz's flat shoes, he stood a few inches taller than her. When he closed the gap between them, the difference in height seemed to grow.

She shrugged sarcastically. "My gratitude."

Reddington paused for a second, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. "Tell me what you've learned about your husband."

"Reddington, for God's sake, we don't have time to play games!"

"And why not?"

"Because a kid's life hangs in the balance!"

"Somebody's life always seems to 'hang in the balance', Lizzie. If you want my help, I'm happy to give it – provided I get something in return. So, tell me what you've learned about your husband."

She shook her head in annoyance and disbelief. Why wouldn't he help her?! He'd told her on their second case together that helping her was the reason why he had handed himself in to the FBI! And now he wasn't going to help? "You know what, _Raymond_?" She snarled his name. "Why don't you fu-" It happened too quickly for Liz to resist. A push to her shoulder had spun her around, her right arm had been grabbed and twisted up, her whole body had been turned around and then she was bent over, her face pressed into the seat of the armchair that Reddington had just vacated. "What the hell! Reddington, let me go!"

"You know, Lizzie," His voice sent a scared shiver down her spine, "There are only a few things I well and truly hate in other people. Lying, betrayal, and rudeness. And you, Agent Keen, were very rude just now. I might just have to do something about that."

"Reddington, this isn't funny!" She protested as she tried to straighten up. His firm hands held her down.

"This isn't meant to be funny, I'm entirely serious."

"Get off me!" She shouted. What happened next shocked her to her core. A sharp blow landed on her left buttock, followed by a smacking sound. Did he just…Reddington had just spanked her! "Reddington!" She shrieked in outrage, attempting to lash out at him using her left arm. He didn't make a sound, merely grabbed her left wrist, pulled her into a half-standing position and moved to her side, both her wrists in his hands.

"Lizzie, darling, were you never taught not to lash out at people?" He smacked her ass for a second time, this time on the right cheek. Oh that stung!

"Reddington!" She tried again to break free, to no success. For a man with an average build, he had surprising strength, keeping her bent over the armchair with little effort.

"Oh Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie…" He spoke in mock disappointment, holding both her wrists in one large hand. Liz tried yet again to break free, planning to take advantage of his weaker grip. She shouldn't have bothered. "No, Lizzie." He said firmly, like an adult might criticise a naughty child. Two blows were delivered this time, the second definitely harder than the first, making Liz wince. "You know, I'm glad you're wearing a dark jacket this afternoon, Lizzie; this Christian Lacroix tie will make a wonderful contrast, especially with your light skin tone."

"Son of a bitch!" She screamed as he bound her wrists using his tie. A fifth, sixth and seventh blow all landed on the same spot in less than a second. Liz gasped in pain, clenching her teeth.

"Yet more rudeness, Lizzie. You're not making this any easier on yourself. This needn't be difficult, just say you're sorry."

"For what?" She snapped.

Two more strikes, one on each cheek. "Let's see, what have we got so far? Hmmm…" He hummed thoughtfully, dragging out Liz's anxiety. She had never felt so vulnerable before. Not even with the Stewmaker. When she had been his captive, somewhere inside she had known that Reddington would come and save her. But now, Reddington was her captor. The only people who knew she was in the house were Luli and Dembe, and neither would go against their employer to help her. She was helpless. "First, you snatched my papers away. Second, you shouted at me, several times. Third, you have used some rather colourful language during your little visit today-"

"Colourful language?! You're beating me over 'colourful language'?!"

"Beating you? No, no, my dear, this isn't a beating. 'Beating' implies that the abuse is unwarranted."

"Then what the hell do you call this?!"

"This is positive punishment, of course."

"Positive punishment, my a-!" He struck her four times. "Reddington, stop!"

"Not until you apologise."

"For what?" She demanded again, trying to bend her legs to ease the strain on her back.

"No, no, stay up." He ordered, putting his hand under her stomach and pushing her back up. She whimpered as the strain returned to her back and legs. "There's a good girl. Now where was I before you rudely interrupted me? Another mistake of yours. Ah yes, snatching things that aren't yours, shouting, and colourful language, we've had several examples of that, and you interrupted me. Hmmm, have we only had four? I definitely feel like I've forgotten some other transgression…"

"Bastard!" She kicked out at him, though through her disorientation from being bent over and facing away from him, she missed completely.

"Oh Lizzie, now you really have been a naughty girl. Am I going to have to stand you on one leg? That won't make staying up any easier for you."

"Sarcastic prick!"

"Well onto one leg it is."

Liz fought harder when she felt one of Reddington's hands move to her belt buckle. "No! Don't you dare!"

"Lizzie, when are you going to realise that you are not the one in charge here?" He sounded disappointed. "You have been rude, and even violent, so now you have to learn your lesson." He unbuckled her belt with one hand, pulling it free from the loops in her jeans. "Put your left ankle against the back of your right thigh." She stayed still, her anxiety bordering on panic. "Lizzie, do as I say." Again, she stayed still. "Lizzie, I'm going to give you to the count of three to put your left ankle against your right thigh. You're already at forty strokes, don't make it go to fifty."

"F-Forty?" She whimpered, hating the sound of her own wavering voice.

"Once you are in the correct position, then I will explain your punishment. Lizzie, one."

"Reddington, please." She whimpered into the seat of the chair.

His voice was firm. "Lizzie. Two."

"Red, please!" She begged, now feeling tears on her cheeks. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how open and exposed she was to his whims.

"Lizzie, you don't want me to get to three, do you?"

"Red…"

"Three. You had your chance." A harsh hand grabbed her left ankle and pulled it up, making her wobble with the suddenness of the action. Her left ankle was pressed against the back of her right thigh, and then her belt was fastened around them both, forcing her left leg to bend uncomfortably and the belt to dig into her flesh. "That's fifty now, Lizzie. There will be five for snatching away my papers, fifteen for the times you shouted, twenty for your bad language, and now an extra ten for disobedience."

"Disobed…" She trailed off in a teary whisper.

"After each strike, I want you to count. If you lose count, we'll start again. If you say anything other than the correct number, we'll start again. If you fall over, we'll start again. When we reach fifty, I want you to apologise for your bad behaviour and then tell me what you've learned about your husband. After that, I will answer whatever questions you may have about the Courier." Liz's mind was so fogged, she couldn't remember who the Courier was. "Are you ready?" She didn't answer, just gave a sob into the armchair. "Count, Lizzie." The 'first' blow came. It wasn't as hard as some of the other blows, but Liz knew that the blows would get harder.

"One."

"Good girl."

The next blow came on her other cheek. "Two. Three. Four. Five."

"Good girl. What are those blows for?"

"For snatching your papers."

"That's right. Keep counting."

"Six. …Eleven." She gave a small upset hiccough. "Twelve." The next blow was on the back of her thigh, the place where his fingertips had struck stung worse than the other hits. "Shit!"

"Oh Lizzie." He lamented. "We'll start again."

"No!"

"Lizzie." He scolded. "Who is in charge?"

She sulked. "You are."

"Exactly. Start again." He ordered, delivering another blow to the exact same spot as before.

She sucked in a sharp breath and forced out a 'one' through gritted teeth. The next few blows were easier, letting her get to nine. The tenth blow was aimed at the side of her ass, with enough force to knock her off balance. Her heart went into her throat as she wobbled. Luckily for her, Reddington quickly shot his arm under her hips and pulled her up again before she hit the ground, waiting for her balance before letting go.

"Lizzie, do you know what I want you to do now?"

"Start again." She wept.

"Good girl." Her shirt had ridden up an inch, leaving a small strip of bare skin. He stroked her hip with his thumb, letting her be comforted by the contact for a second before pulling back and hitting again.

"…Thirty-four." Liz's face was covered with tears as her eyes poured and her nose ran a little. She was sure she looked a mess. The blow that followed sent every thought scattering out of her head with the pain of it. She gasped in pain, choking in breaths as her FBI training on pain management escaped her.

"Lizzie, what's the number?"

She hummed in an attempt to block out the pain and focus on a number. "Thirty…Thirty…Thirty-six!"

"Are you sure?"

He let her think for a second as she rocked to and fro slightly, burying her face in the cushion under her face. "Yes!"

"Too bad, Lizzie, because it was thirty-five. We start again."

She sobbed loudly, past caring about controlling herself. "No, Red, please! I can't take much more!"

"Yes you can, Lizzie, we both know you're strong enough."

"Red-"

"Start again." He ordered softly but firmly, landing the next blow at the top of her left thigh. It felt like hours had passed. The pain in Liz's ass and thighs was now a constant burning, barely able to feel the individual blows anymore, relying solely on the sound his hand made when it landed a blow on her jean-clad skin. When Liz finally said the word 'fifty', a triumphant wave rolled over her. She wanted nothing more than to pass out, but his firm hold on her wrists kept her awake. "Now, Lizzie, what do you say?"

It took her brain a second to catch up. "I'm…I'm sorry, Red."

"For what?"

"For," Hiccough, "Snatching your papers, and for shouting, and for swearing at you."

"Good girl. It's nearly over now. What have you learned about your husband?"

Oh God! How could she possibly think now?! She'd received nearly a hundred-and-fifty hard blows one of the softest parts of her body. Her whole body was in agony. "I-I can't think, Red!"

"Yes you can, Lizzie. Take a deep breath, and focus."

Sniffling and taking a few deep breaths, she felt like she was having to force her mind to start working again. "The gun from the box that w-was under the floor is linked to an open homicide."

"Of whom?"

She shook her head desperately. "I don't know. The file was classified, I couldn't read it. Please, Red!" Her knees buckled.

His arm under her hips kept her upright, even though he was supporting all of her body weight. She shuffled her free foot weakly in an attempt to gain some purchase on the floor, but her sneaker didn't do much. "I imagine you found a way around that particular obstacle."

"Red…" She whimpered with tears in her voice. She was so tired…

"Focus, Lizzie. What else have you found out?"

"It, uh, it happened in Boston. Last year. A Russian tourist was killed, Victor Fokin."

"You and Tom lived in New York at the time; why do you think he could be involved?"

"Because I went with him, damnit!"

"Lizzie, that's another five strikes."

"No, Red, please!" At least they were quick. When the fifth blow landed, she was crying again, her body fully draped over Reddington's arm as her leg gave up trying to support her weight.

"Why do you think Tom could be involved, Lizzie?"

"He had a job interview…We made it into a small vacation."

Reddington said nothing a few seconds. "Lizzie, I need you to put your weight back onto your right leg, just for a minute. I'm going to release your left leg." He helped her balance, then reached down and unbuckled her belt, lowering her numb left ankle to the floor as the blood flow returned. Dropping the belt to the floor, he stood up straight, keeping his arm under her to help her stay up, releasing her bound wrists. Her arms flopped under her uselessly, as numb as her ankle. Reddington shifted around, picking her up effortlessly in the bridal fashion, he held her close and sat in the armchair he had just spanked her in. Pulling her torso up, he spread his legs so her ass could rest between them, laying her legs over his right thigh as his left arm held her up. Something pressed against her side. "Luli." He called out.

"No, no, I don't want-"

"Quiet, Lizzie." He whispered in her ear with a kiss on the temple. Footsteps approached. Too tired to open her eyes, Liz relied on sound alone for their conversation. "Luli, dear, please get me some of your make-up wipes, and a glass of water. Thank you." The footsteps left. Liz sniffled tiredly, resting her head against Reddington's shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up, Lizzie. Then we can talk." Something soft, dry and warm – a handkerchief? – wiped under her nose, squeezing her nostrils gently. "Blow." She did so weakly, earning another 'good girl'. Footsteps came back. "Thank you, Lu. Keep your eyes closed for me, Lizzie, I don't want to poke you." She could hear his smile as he gently but thoroughly cleaned her face of all make-up. "There we go. Good as new. Lizzie, have a drink please, you're dehydrated." He pressed the cold rim of a glass against her mouth and tipped it gently, letting her slowly take a long drink of the cool and refreshing water. "There we go." A small sound echoed in the room, probably him putting the glass down. "Rest now, Lizzie." His hand rested on her hip lightly, stroking the bare skin under her top in a soothing manner, lulling her to sleep.

She didn't know how long she was out. It could have been an hour, or a few seconds. It felt like a few seconds, until a soft voice whispered in her ear and a kiss was placed on her forehead.

"_Lizzie."_

She knew that voice. That voice was in her dreams, and her nightmares. That voice saved her from monsters, and dragged her into Hell. It was the hero, and the villain. The good man who was so bad.

But he was _her_ bad man.

And she was his Lizzie.


End file.
